


Nostalgia—Truth or Fiction?

by My_Alter_Ego



Series: “The Beginning, The Middle, and The Ending” [4]
Category: White Collar
Genre: AU, Emotional Ties, Gen, Post Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:26:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25876642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: Peter and Neal have a heart-to-heart discussion about the past in an unlikely place. This fiction completes my short series that started with, “At Loggerheads.” That one was a beginning, there were two middle stories, as well, and this one provides an ending.
Relationships: Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Series: “The Beginning, The Middle, and The Ending” [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1844380
Kudos: 26





	Nostalgia—Truth or Fiction?

Peter waited to the last possible second to tackle the final thing on his to-do list. He had promised his wife that he would sort through the junk in the attic, which was comprised of the esoteric debris amassed over fifteen years of living in the same house. He and El were moving on to a new phase in their lives. Peter had always been the alpha in their relationship, and a patient, loving wife had put her own aspirations on hold for a decade and a half. But now it was her time to shine. She had won a coveted position at a prestigious museum in Washington DC, and Peter would be relinquishing his dominant role in the New York White Collar office to join her.

Peter found himself happy to support his spouse because he felt that he had climbed his own mountain and El deserved her own shot at glory and professional fulfillment. They would both be leaving many good friends behind, but they would certainly make other connections in their new environment. Peter had no qualms about the void he would be leaving behind at the FBI. Diana Berrigan would step into his shoes effortlessly and make him proud.

Boxing up old, never used wedding gifts, bins of antiquated vinyl records, and bulky outdated collections of dusty college books was easy enough, but it was tedious and time-consuming. After taking a beer break, Peter called Neal as a distraction. The former CI had completed his parole and been off the anklet for the past four years, but he had never truly been off Peter’s radar. Not that a former handler actually stalked a former conman. There was no need to do that because Neal, himself, had kept in touch. Of course, once he was free of his leash, he had gadded around the globe like a kid with ADD, but he sent postcards, letters, and photos to keep Peter in the loop. Just as in the old days of their chase, phone calls in the middle of the night to chat were common occurrences, and Peter relished the closeness that never wavered even though the time zones varied. At the present time, however, Peter just happened to know that Neal was currently in New York.

“Hey, Buddy, want to help me out with a little project?” Peter asked after Neal answered his phone.

“What kind of project?” Neal wanted to know before he was ready to commit.

“I have my marching orders from my wife, and that means I have to empty out the attic. I know that sounds dull and boring, but I can promise an Italian dinner tonight if you give me a hand,” Peter cajoles.

“Let me guess,” Neal teases. “Why am I picturing your favorite neighborhood trattoria where you romance your wife from time to time?”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve become so jaded that you’re turning up your nose at pasta that is made beyond Italian shores,” Peter challenges.

“Not at all,” Neal quickly responds with a smile in his voice. “I enjoy a good robust Chianti and a zesty chicken cacciatore even when it’s made in Brooklyn. I’ll see you soon.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t long before the handsome young man arrived on Peter’s doorstep wearing ripped old jeans and a t-shirt with _Guess_ scrawled across his chest. Peter didn’t need to “guess” what that shirt was covering up. He knew it was simply camouflage hiding firmly sculpted pecs and washboard abs, every woman’s dream of a Greek Adonis. He idly wondered when Neal would let himself get snagged by some adoring young thing and settle down. But that wasn’t a question for today. Right now he was overjoyed to have Neal in his home and all to himself.

“I hope you don’t intend to wear that getup when we go out to dinner,” he teased.

“Now, Peter, have I ever embarrassed you?” Neal retorted.

“Too many times to count,” Peter huffed.

“Well, don’t sweat it. I left a change of clothes in my car,” the former con man said with a cavalier wave of his hand.

Together the two friends climbed up the access steps to the dusty attic with fresh cold bottles of beer in their hands. Under the eaves, things were scattered about, helter-skelter, with no rhyme or reason at this point. “Have you even made a dent?” Neal groused.

“Trust me, it was worse than this a few hours ago,” Peter answered sheepishly.

“You give new meaning to the term, ‘pack rat,’ Buddy,” Neal answered incredulously with a shake of his head.

“Okay, so I guess I’m not like a certain former felon who was ready to leave at a moment’s notice with just a go-bag in his hand,” Peter replied almost fondly.

Neal ignored that remark and squatted down in front of a large cardboard carton. He peered inside, and then like an archeologist raiding King Tut’s tomb, he began pulling out a collection of seemingly unrelated objects from within and placing them in front of him on the floor. At first, the assortment of oddities seemed to make no sense, but then Neal recognized the treasure trove of artifacts for what they were. “Did you really amass a Caffrey box over the years of our chase?” Neal asked his former handler.

Peter looked uncomfortable and offered up a lame excuse. “They were pieces of evidence in an on-going case.”

“Old wine corks, doodles on hotel memo pads, European road maps, and long-range grainy surveillance photos were evidence?” Neal seemed mystified.

“I was tracking you, Neal, even if I was always two steps behind for years,” Peter said to justify the hoard.

“I think that’s so adorable, Peter,” Neal said with a grin.

“Well, how else was I going to figure out how you were thinking or your next move?” Peter said in his own defense.

“I was your obsession, Peter, so just admit it out loud,” Neal pushed. “I think it’s kind of flattering in a stalker sort of way.” Then the former CI’s face took on a different expression. He was holding up a pair of black silk briefs for Peter’s inspection, and that was a bit disconcerting.

“My underwear?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“You left it behind in a hotel in Venice so it was good for extracting DNA,” Peter claimed. “I think you were in a bit of a hurry to leave because the local polizia and I were closing in. The pillow on the bed was still warm when we gained access to that suite.”

“Another missed connection,” Neal taunted. “You must have been really frustrated.”

“For a while, but eventually I persevered,” Peter crowed. Then his expression became more serious. “I was concerned about the eventual takedown, you know. I wanted it to go easy without you doing something stupid and getting hurt. I worried, even back then.”

“I guess it went as good as it could go,” Neal agreed. “Did you worry about me while I was in prison?”

“It wasn’t a case of out of sight, out of mind, Neal,” Peter said softly. “I know you’re a lover not a fighter, so, of course, I worried. I kept tabs on you via the warden, and his call about your escape was like a bolt out of the blue.”

“But that ushered in a whole new dynamic,” Neal mused thoughtfully.

“Any regrets about our arrangement?” Peter probed.

Neal simply shrugged, “It’s the past, Peter, and I don’t live in the past and neither should you. I think this box should go out in the trash,” he added as he refilled it and dragged it to the side of the attic.

Peter didn’t answer, but he knew that carton would be taking up space on the moving van, despite Neal’s advice. The helpful young man next zeroed in on an old wooden chest and wondered what was hidden away within its depths. In a way, the contents were sort of nostalgic as well. He sat down with an old photo album on his lap and began a journey through Peter’s life that started with a birth announcement and a baby picture. With each turn of the fragile pages, he was awarded a peak in another year of his friend’s early days on this earth—birthdays, Christmases, Boy Scout Jamborees, high school baseball teams, and garish varsity letters.

“It’s hard to imagine that I was once that young,” Peter mumbled as he gazed over Neal’s shoulder at his adolescent self. “My Mom was a real shutterbug and wanted to preserve everything for posterity. I know that probably sounds corny.”

“Actually, I think it sounds really nice,” Neal answered wistfully.

Peter hunkered down beside the former con man, close enough for their shoulders to touch. He suspected that during Neal’s childhood there hadn’t been anybody invested enough to immortalize a kid’s tender milestones. It was no wonder that Neal refused to discuss anything but the bare bones about his formative years. How could there be nostalgia for something that never existed? Suddenly, Peter found himself growing sad, and maybe it made sense that Neal and Mozzie, two very different personalities, had inexplicably bonded years ago. Both had lacked the rudimentary tools necessary to build self-esteem, so they had to construct them later in life out of a fervent hunger for respect derived from a perilous type of hubris.

Perhaps Neal had a sixth sense when it came to Peter, because he was suddenly deflecting something that could become maudlin by substituting his own brand of mocking humor. “You resembled a gawky giraffe during adolescence, Peter, like your legs were too long for your body. Were you actually able to get any dates in high school?”

“Not many,” Peter admitted, “but I managed to snag the ultimate prize when I won El’s heart.”

“Well, these old photo albums are keepers—a visual testament to a wonderful life,” Neal said firmly. “They’re worth their weight in gold, so you’re a very rich man, Peter.”

Peter placed a hand on his young friend’s shoulder. “I remember reading something written by some wise person who’s name I can’t remember now. To quote him, he said ‘ _Nostalgia is a file that removes the rough edges from the good old days.’_ Not every moment of my younger years was a template for an Ozzie and Harriet existence, Neal. There were rough patches that I shunt to the background of my memories like white noise. There was a long span of time when my father and I didn’t see eye to eye on almost anything and it caused a lot of friction. My mother was always the peacemaker trying to _‘remove the rough edges.’_ Dad inevitably claimed he knew what was best for me, but I was brashly impatient to be my own person and I wanted him to let go.”

Neal gazed up at his friend. “Maybe you’re more like your father than you’re willing to admit, Peter. I think that now _you_ have issues of letting go, especially when it pertains to me,” he said softly. “Tell me I’m wrong about why you’re hoarding a chunk of our past lives in a cardboard box in your attic. Is that even healthy or do you simply need reminders to keep you humble?”

Peter didn’t take the bait. Instead, he offered his former partner a melancholy little smile. “I want to be reminded that our past forged the people that we eventually have become, and I never want to forget any step along the way. It was a long, challenging journey to get to our present, but every mile of the trip was worth it. I’m not just being nostalgic; I’m being honest. So, here’s to today and our, as yet, uncharted future that will eventually crystalize into memories,” he added as he held his beer bottle aloft.

Neal clinked the neck of his own beer bottle against Peter’s. “Here’s to the future,” he echoed. “Whatever the hell that is, I’m all in!”

“Just don’t be more than a phone call away,” Peter said firmly.

“Like I said, you always had trouble letting go,” Neal huffed as he rolled his eyes before engulfing Peter in a clumsy hug.


End file.
